


you taste like perfume and sodium laureth sulphate, baby

by catpoop



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Gen, Retail Worker stress, lush au, misuse of bathbombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Whenever they have a rat problem in the store, Die-Hardman knows exactly who to call – the man, the legend, the one and only Sam Bridges.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	you taste like perfume and sodium laureth sulphate, baby

**Author's Note:**

> fever dream kind of feverish idea

Sam Bridges relaxes in what everyone calls his ‘Private Room’. He sets aside the paperwork he had been leafing through and not understanding for the past hour and yawns widely. Work’s nice – he gets his wheely chair, his privacy, and his bag full of insect-shaped animal crackers. He crunches down on a cricket when the phone rings. 

_That_ is the – less enjoyable part of work.

“Sam.” It’s Die-Hardman’s voice, or as they call him behind his back, Big D. “Die-Hardman here. We need the Great Deliverer here, pronto. I repeat –”

Rolling his eyes, Sam ends the call. There’s really no need for him to be repeating anything, or even greeting Sam by name. With a sigh, he gets up from his very padded, very ergonomic chair. The shop is a mere minute’s walk away, but Sam’s only ever notified when _trouble_ has cropped up.

He smells the shop before he sees it, the corridor wreathed with the floral scent of soaps and bath bombs, but for once, Sam hears it, too. He quickens his step. 

It’s pandemonium inside.

This pandemonium had started exactly ten minutes ago, when Heartman had been doing his usual rounds in the store.

He eyes the customers with his usual wariness, as they pick up products and put them down, as they give a bath bomb a curious sniff or touch or scratch (always clandestinely, always entirely visible), as the shower jellies are prodded to the point of irreversible damage. He hears a great sniff from nearby and turns around on reflex. The man has a bar of soap raised to his face, and Heartman is about to move on to the next customer when he sees the man’s tongue extend in slow motion. He lets out a great gasp of shock, and freezes as the man looks at him with one raised brow.

“Yes?”

Heartman makes idle note of his statement eyeliner. “Um. Please –” His employee manual had not accounted for this customer interaction. “Sir, please don’t –”

“Yes?” The man repeats, sounding increasingly annoyed.

“ – Please don’t lick the products.”

He does not expect the flippant reply. “Oh fuck off! Mind your own fuckin’ business, why don’t you?”

“Ah –” 

The man ignores him this time, and reaches for a second soap. Heartman makes another abortive movement before rushing back to the staffroom. This is one for his manager to deal with – he catches Die-Hardman’s eye through the door and the man does not look happy. 

“He’s eating the products.”

“He’s _what?_ ” Heartman turns around in shock, to see that exact sight through the small window in the door. He swallows back bile. “That can’t be normal.”

He hears his manager sigh. “I’ll go call security. You try and stop him from destroying the store.” They take a moment to fully appreciate the way the man is tossing bath bombs (he has since moved on from the soaps) left and right as he samples each one. The other customers move warily out of his path of destruction.

Heartman is pushed back out into the store, and he gulps once again. He’s not a man known for confrontation, is the thing. There’s a reason why he fainted in the schoolyard that one, or three, times, and that reason was confrontation.

He hopes their problem customer won’t make fun of his glasses.

“What’s your problem, four-eyes?” The man doesn’t look happy to have been bothered a second time. Heartman bites back a grimace.

“Sir, can you –”

The man retches from a lavender-scented bath fizzer and tosses it over one shoulder. “Eurgh! Why d’you guys even stock this shit?”

“Ah – some people like the smell of lavender,” Heartman explains. “They find it relaxing, and –” He cuts himself off.

“I find it _nauseating_ ,” the man replies conversationally. He reaches for a marshmallow scented one. “Ooh, marshmallow. I like marshmallow.” It crumbles between his teeth.

“That one also – has lavender in it. Lavender oil.” Heartman reaches to take it from him, to then throw out or try to salvage, but the man tosses it to the ground immediately. 

Cowed, Heartman walks away to find the nearest broom and dustpan. It’s the least he can do.

Sam arrives to such a sight. He recognises the man in the black hoodie immediately, and the way he is sauntering carelessly around the store. 

“Higgs!”

“Sam!” Heartman cries in relief.

“Sammy!” Higgs grins widely. “Hey, how’s it going!”

“Would be going better if you stopped pissing everyone off at all times.”

Higgs shrugs, and with an impossible movement, sweeps a whole display onto the floor. Sam groans. 

“Come on! Come on, get the fuck out of the store.” He charges over, ready to throttle or tackle or just kick him in the balls, and Higgs darts out of the way with a wild laugh.

“Only if you can fuckin’ catch me!”

The other customers have all cleared out by now. Heartman dutifully sweeps down one aisle.

Sam curses as he rounds a corner, then throws caution to the wind to vault over a half-destroyed display. He meets Higgs with his full body weight carried through an elbow to the chest. The man falls to the ground with a yelp, before Sam drags him, complaining, out of the store. 

Peace once more settles in the shop. Die-Hardman peeks out of the staffroom.

“See? Over in less than a minute.”

**Author's Note:**

> picture two grown men chasing each other around a Lush store. yeah. 
> 
> [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/hashtag_yikes)


End file.
